"ANNIVERSARY" / ". . . CELEBRATING" (B/J COMPANION PIECES)
Title: “Anniversary" / "...celebrating" ( B/J companion pieces )
Author: emelwhy
Pairing: Brian and Justin
Author's Notes: 2 speculative stories written in 2002, just before Season 2 premiered. This is the way I hoped it would happen.
Telephones were ringing all of over Pittsburgh.
Lindsay: "Deb, he HAS to come. You know how much he cares for Gus. He has to be there for his first birthday."
Debbie: "I know honey, but if he even suspects what you're tryin’ to do…Oh, poor Sunshine. Lindsay it just rips Vic an' me apart to see him draggin' around the house so sad and so afraid of his own shadow. Thank God his arm is better and he’s got feeling in his hand again. But it’s like someone extinguished that beautiful light he had inside him. Know what I mean?"
Lindsay: "I know Deb. We all know. That's why we have to do this. He'll come for Gus. I’m just sure he will."
Debbie: "What about Brian? Does he know what you're tryin’ to do? Are you sure he'll be there?"
Lindsay: "He was here yesterday in as strange mood as you've ever seen him. Didn't even want to argue with Mel! Yeah, can you imagine? We broached the subject of a party for Gus and he just answered in a monotone. He said he'd help his sonny boy celebrate by himself and he didn't need a crowd of people around, especially not on that day."
Debbie: "Hummph! So he DOES remember that Gus' birthday is…”
Lindsay: "The first anniversary of the day he met Justin too. If you think it’s hard watching Justin withdraw into a shell, you can imagine what it's like watching Brian in a Justin-deprived daze. Don't worry though, I've talked to Emmett and Ted and we have a plan. They should both be on the 'phone with Michael right now."
Debbie: "MICHAEL!?!"
************************************************
Michael: "Wait a minute. You want ME to convince Brian that he HAS to go to Gus' birthday party, so Lindsay and Mel can have some sort of … what? Group intervention for Justin?"
Emmett: "I wouldn't call it that. But…yes, yes, we have to find a way to get our baby to snap out of this. It’s just too sad not to see him the way he used to be."
Ted: "Not to mention to get Brian back...God, never thought I'd say this…back to his old infuriating self. He actually called me the other night to see what I was up to and wanted to know if I wanted to see a movie!"
Michael: "He called YOU? He didn't ask ME!?!"
Emmett: "Teddy, at least he doesn't stop by your place of work at lunch time and sit there staring into space with sad puppy dog eyes."
Michael: "Brian does THAT? He doesn't stop by MY store."
Ted: "Michael. Would you wake up and smell the Big Q special blend coffee? There are TWO victims of that bashing. The kid has been hammered into a scared little recluse who’s turned off to love and Brian is now the ignored pursuer. For THEIR sake and OUR sanity we have to do something."
Michael: "Yeah, well ... I guess you're right. But what can I do? You know how bad I am at lying to him. He saw right through me when we tried to pretend that I didn’t know about MY party."
Emmett: "Mikey, sweetie. You can do it. Listen to Auntie Em and try to comprehend. No more Nancy Negative. It’s time to be Priscilla Positive."
Ted: Jesus, Em that’s a new high on the Nelly Meter, even for you."
******************************************************************
"Oh shit"
Debbie and Vic walked in the door to Mel and Lindsay's house expecting to see a party in high gear and instead felt like they were at a wake --and not the Irish kind. It was more like a WASP memorial service.
(She had badgered Justin until he agreed to wish Gus a happy birthday. She had also recruited Daphne to work on him and to volunteer to drive him over to the party. Trying to pretend it was no big deal, Debbie said she and Vic would try to stop by later.
(“.…but why don't you two kids just go over ...even if it’s for a few minutes ... you know how happy Gus gets when he sees you….”
("Yeah, I guess." Justin responded. "But I don't understand why anyone would be happy to see ME.”
(Deb and Daphne exchanged glances and Debbie quickly propelled the two youngsters out the door and toward Daphne's car.)
At Mel and Lindz's the gathering was suddenly aware of Debbie's presence. Taking charge, she went into waitress mode, loudly asking for food and drink orders and popping Michael on the back of his head when he said "Ma ... Pleeez sit down!"
Sweeping across the room, she grabbed Lindsay and pushed her into the kitchen.
"What's happening?"
"God, I don't know. I guess I was naïve thinking that if we could get everyone together it might change things. Instead Justin just sits there staring at the floor and Brian is moping at the other end of the room. I can't even get Justin to eat anything."
"Christ! This IS serious!" Debbie exclaimed. "Come on. Time to stir the pot!"
Striding into the living room Debbie sought out Gus and scooped him up in her arms.
"Oh there's my birthday boy. Hi sweetums. Oh isn't he so precious. Oooph…. Getting bigger too. Pretty soon I won't be able to pick you up or hold you. Might as well take advantage while we can. Huh, Sunshine? Don't want to let opportunities get away from us do we? How long has it been since you held him, huh?"
As she reached the end of her sentence, her voice took on the scratchy sound it usually did when her emotions started creep up on her.
She swooped down and plunked Gus in a startled Justin's lap.
"Ma!" Michael blurted. "Slow down!"
The tears were gone from Debbie's eyes, replaced by a fiery glare Michael knew only so well.
“Michael. Hsssssst!” Her exclamation was punctuated by a swift movement of her right hand cutting across her throat.
Michael gulped, knowing when to shut up.
Justin looked down at Gus who was bubbling with joy to be seated on his favorite young adult.
“Hi Gus.” Justin said softly. “Are you really happy to see me?”
The little boy smiled and gurgled.
“It’s me Gus. It really is.”
Justin nuzzled him with his nose.
“Hard to believe it’s been a year already,” Debbie crowed.
“Yeah, Gus," Justin continued looking only at the dark haired child. “A lot can happen in a year. Don’t grow up too fast little guy. No. You may not be happy with what you learn. Stay like this Gus. Yeah, just like this. You’ve got your teddy bear and your mommies to protect you. Maybe you should stay that way.”
“Shit! I didn’t come here to listen to this,” Brian lunged forward and tried to get up from his chair, but his progress was halted by Michael’s left hand clutching his forearm.
“Brian. Hsssst!” Michael’s right hand mimicked Deb’s cutting movement.
Brian’s jaw dropped as he stared in astonishment at his friend’s uncharacteristic defiance and he slowly sat back down.
Michael loosened his grip on Brian and turned toward the center of the room to see his mother, uncle and friends staring at him with varied forms of shock on their faces.
“Whaaat?” he exclaimed, raising one eyebrow and cocking his head to the side.
Justin was oblivious to everyone else in the room except the smiling child in his arms. He closed his eyes tightly, drawing Gus even closer in a protective embrace, rocking the one-year old gently back and forth.
“Well! Okay! What kind of party IS this?’ Emmett stepped toward the Bose Wave Radio/CD player on the bookcase. “We need some music! DJ Emmett at your service! And what do you girls have in your collection? Really hot dance mixes would be too much to ask. Hmmm, Enya...no too spooky. KD Lang ... too butch! Anne Murray… too granola dyke. Oh here we are. Golden Oldies Collection. How middle of the road. Well who can argue with that?”
He removed the disk from the jewel box, placed it in the machine, closed the lid and hit the play button.
“Didn’t even look to see what’s up first. Oh, this is nice. The Drifters “Save the Last…”
“No!” Brian leaped from the chair and moved toward the dismayed Mr. Honeycutt. “Not that. It’s the…”
But it was too late, the music had started.
“... song from the prom.” Brian finished his sentence and his face went slack.
“You can dance
Every dance with the guy
Who gives you the eye
Let him hold you tight”
Everyone turned to Justin.
“You can smile
Every smile for the man
Who held your hand
Beneath the pale moonlight”
The eyes that had been clenched shut, slowly opened. The head that had rested against Gus lifted up. The mouth that had been closed tightly in a grimace opened, but no sound came out.
“But don't forget who's taking you home
And in whose arms you're gonna be
So darlin' save the last dance for me.”
Tears began to form and then run down his cheeks.
He quietly rose from the chair, placing Gus in Deb’s outstretched hands. Suddenly he was aware of Daphne standing behind him, reaching cautiously and wrapping her arm around his waist.
“Oh, I know
That the music's fine
Like sparkling wine
Go and have your fun.”
Across the room Brian turned from Emmett to stare at the transformed boy.
Michael stepped behind him and placed a hand gently on his shoulder, patting him twice, and motioning his head toward Justin. His eyes formed that crinkly teary squint he had inherited from his mother.
The old glint was back in Brian’s eyes, the sly devilish grin forming on his face.
“Mikey…” he began.
“Yeah, I know. I’m pathetic. But not as much as you are if you don’t do what you want to do. Go on...”
“Laugh and sing
But while we're apart
Don't give your heart to anyone.”
Daphne and Justin looked over as Brian approached.
Images flooded through Justin’s mind. He had never really forgotten that night. He said he would not and he was right. But the attack coming so soon upon the happiest night of his life had forced him to cram the prom dance to the very back of his brain. The loving feelings, the romance had been locked away so as not to remind him of the pain and the loss of innocence. All he could feel was the cruel hate that had caused the bat to swing.
But now, being here among his friends, Daphne by his side, he remembered why he had been so happy.
The handsome man who had made him smile that night was approaching him as he did so many, many weeks ago.
“Hi, Daphne. Can I borrow your date?”
“Sure, Brian.”
She released her arm from Justin.
“I’m here to reclaim my Lost Youth.”
“And don't forget who's taking you home
And in whose arms you're gonna be
So darlin', save the last dance for me.”
They held each other tightly in approximation of their prom night dance, but this time there was no swirling across the room. They just swayed in place… not saying a word… communicating through their eyes.
“This is the most fuckin’ romantic thing I’ve ever seen.” Deb cooed to Gus.
“Mushy, too.” Emmett said.
“Sicky sweet, even. Ted replied.
“Just the way we like it.” Emmett proclaimed.
...............................
. . . CELEBRATING
J: I trace my right index finger over his mouth as if smoothing out the shading on a charcoal sketch. His lips open and his tongue slowly emerges, catching the tip of my finger and then rolling around its length. My artist's instincts delight in the tongue's texture, its red deliciousness; I smile as it seems to wrap itself around my finger and tugs it into the warm, wet interior of his mouth.
B: We stand in the middle of my loft, in close approximation of our positions on that first night a year ago. But this time my senses are not chemically heightened. Artificial stimulants are not needed tonight. He stands slightly apart from me, the palm of his left hand pressed to my chest, his right hand caressing my face. As he moves a finger across my mouth, I savor it with my tongue and pull it in.
J: I'd resisted any urge to shed my clothes when we entered the loft and silently signaled to him that I did not want us to be naked just yet. I just want to BE here next to him and to breathe his presence, his being. I reluctantly remove my finger from his mouth and place the hand on his shoulder. My left hand moves almost by itself, sliding up his chest, caressing his throat, then moving around to rest just above his shirt collar. My fingers curve around the back of his neck, my thumb creeping under his ear lobe. I gently flick my index finger up to touch and playfully circle in his hair.
B: I thought he would want to be stripped and on the bed the minute we arrived. But he surprised me as he often has in the past. The past. So amazing that we have a past…a history. One year of passion, turmoil, lust, laughter, pain, joy, sorrow. I almost lost him, first to the swing of a bat then to his own emotional and physical wounds. And here we are again…365 days later. He is no longer the scared naïve little school boy. But what am I? Have I changed? Am I the same Brian Kinney who was trapped in this kid's gravitational pull that night on Liberty Avenue?
J: He looks down at me. What's he thinking? Is it about that first night or, like me is he wondering how we contained ourselves this evening at Gus' birthday party? Once the music of that awesome song pulled us together again, once we had relived that ridiculously romantic dance, once we had locked eyes and kissed, once we had paused from our trance, looked around and realized that everybody had stopped in their tracks, well…then I guess they all had expected us to grab our coats and dash for the door. We fooled them and stayed, but I've never devoured cake and gulped milk so fast.
B: I gaze at him, my eyes cinched to his, trying to read his thoughts. Certainly he must be thinking about that first night and how scared he was. As for me I suddenly think about Gus and his party. We stayed for the cake and opening of the presents. How did we manage that? It was an unspoken thing. We both knew we needed to be there for Gus, but perhaps also foresaw that waiting would make what we are doing now hotter and even more intense. Still, the sight of Justin's cheeks stuffed with cake as he tried to down his glass of milk made me laugh…to myself of course.
J: He is thinking about the party too, I can tell. And maybe about our superfast ride in the jeep. It’s a blur in my mind. Did we say anything the whole trip? I just remember resting my head on his shoulder, wishing it was cradled in his lap instead. But he insisted that we buckle up as he made like Jeff Gordon.
B: How did we get over here after we left Lindz and Mel's? Oh yeah! I broke a new speed record for downtown Pittsburgh. We almost fucked in the elevator… in fact, are our jackets still in there? My shirt is partially unbuttoned and Justin's sweater is all disheveled, pulled up in the back and on the side, revealing his white tee. We had kicked off our shoes when we got inside the door and I had pulled off my socks. I would have gone farther, but he stopped me with a touch to the shoulder. So here I stand barefoot and he in his stocking feet and I smile down at him and hook my right forearm around the back of his neck.
J: He's so sexy barefoot. Even if he is otherwise fully clothed. I rub the bottom of one of my feet over the top of his, feeling the shape of his naked skin through the cloth of my sock. His arm is wrapped around behind my neck like when we danced at Babylon, and he tugs me toward him. I look up as I willingly move forward, the underside of my chin coming to rest on his collarbone. He removes his arm and starts to move both hands toward either side of my head. I pull back a bit so I can gaze up at his face.
B: I want to possess him, every part of him. And I intend to start by cupping my hands on either side of his head and holding it like a miser holds a rare, treasured object. Looking deep into his eyes I press my lips to his. My right hand makes contact, but my left hesitates touching the side of his head where he was hurt. I see the thin pink scar peeking out from where his golden hair covers his forehead. Shit. He's going to think I'm repulsed. Bad move Brian.
J: I know what he's doing. He's going to trap my face in his hands, stare at me for a second, turn his head to the side and then smooch his lips to mine. My heart always totally skipped when he did that. But he's hesitating. One hand is pressed strongly over my cheek and ear; the other halts a tiny fraction of an inch away from the right side of my face, the side where I took the blow. Is it the scar he's looking at? He can't be grossed-out by it. It’s small and hardly noticeable anymore. No, I know all his looks. There is a slight flicker of fear in his eyes, not disgust. He's thinking about that OTHER night, not the dance part, but the bashing, and he's afraid to touch me there, afraid that even after all these weeks, he'll hurt me…or hurt himself.
B: There is anticipation in his face, then disappointment. Shit, shit, shit Brian! Don't spoil this now. But wait. He knows. The smart little punk knows and he moves…
J: I move my right hand, place it on his and press them both as tightly as I can to the side of my face, then guide his hand up to my forehead, pressing again so that he knows that I want him to touch me there. He understands.
B: My hands are in control now, covering each side of his face in their grasp. As I lean forward he looks up anticipating my mouth to merge with his, but instead I move upward, touching my nose to his forehead and moving his blond locks aside until the mark is fully visible.
J: What’s he doing? MY lips, wanting HIS, feel ignored. But then his breath is on my forehead, exactly where the stitches have left a faint, curved line on my skin. THEN I feel the hot moistness of his mouth and I know he is gently…
B: …kissing the scar. I find myself touching not once but multiple times, just the way he pecked at my cheek that night he told me he was killing me with kindness.
J: Do I need to question why I so love this man? Maybe I WAS some puppy-love-struck little newbie when we first met. But I'm no clueless dork. I would NOT have wasted a total year of my life if I didn't see the kindness that lurked and occasionally peeked from behind his mask. I still don't know everything as to why Brian is the way he is, but I know it was a long process that brought him there. I've only been around a short while. Give me time.
B: His brain is cooking. I can tell. He has that justin-the-analyzer look in his eyes. I hate it when he does that. It makes me feel vulnerable because the little shit is so good at it. Time to take diversionary action. Stepping back, I snatch a handful of blue-striped wool and yank him toward the bedroom.
J: "Come on," he says and I respond to the tug on my sweater, tripping along behind him. Of course I KNOW I was making him sooo nervous, looking at him like that. If this is his way to distract me, I'm all for it. BUT, I can't resist showing him he's not completely in control. I grab his hand and bound up the steps, pulling HIM after ME. We stop short at the foot of the bed and I turn toward him and throw myself on my back bringing him onto the bed with me.
B: I lose my balance as he falls backward on the bed and I follow him as if we were both taking a slo-mo flop into a swimming pool. His arms go back above his head and I reach up and grip his wrists, pushing his hands deep into the mattress. I smother his face roughly with mine and he shoves back with his mouth, giving as good as he gets.
J: Definitely time to lose the clothes. Since my hands are currently immobilized, I start with my feet, rubbing my right instep down my left ankle and then reversing the process, left to right. He stops plundering my face and glares at me.
B: WHAT - are - you - doing - Justin?" In response he gives me the little kid in the cookie jar look. Eyebrows pushed upward, big blue eyes widened, mouth slightly opened and feigning stunned innocence. "Taking off my socks?" he asks in response.
J: Brian groans and rolls off me. "Sit up and pull your socks off the right way,” he barks. And I scoot over the edge of the bed, bend forward and peel them quickly from my feet, just then noticing that one is black and one navy blue. Before I can drop them, Brian has grabbed the socks from my hand. "Still mis-matching them?" he asks. "I thought I broke you of that habit."
B: I guess I had a relapse and forgot." he replies with a jocular shrug and a cocking of his head, but then gets quiet, like he's thinking about the time in the hospital, the physical therapy for his arm, and his self-enforced emotional retreat from me. I pause too, then reach over, grab the bottom of his sweater and tee shirt and pull them up and over his head and his now- extended arms. As I fling the garments across the room, he leans in and starts unbuttoning my shirt. He pulls it open and plunges his face, tongue-first to the center of my exposed chest, darting about in circles, then flicking teasingly at one tit, then another.
J: He moans like I knew he would: "Christ! I guess there are some things you haven't forgotten." I look up and announce, "Just wait, there's more". He discards his shirt entirely and pulls me down so that we are face to face on the bed. My arms are wrapped around his shoulders, his arms pressing tightly around my mid-section. There was always something about the contact of our naked chests, the touching of our nipples, that amped me up almost as much as fucking. I think it’s because of when I was eight years old, and reluctantly playing a clumsy little kid's version of water polo at my parent's country club. Another boy my age dove for the ball, but fell on me, linking his arms around my waist as I splashed backwards. I reached around him in an almost instinctive way and we held tightly to one another as we went under. We were still holding tight as we dove upwards and broke the surface. The pressing of our pre-pubescent torsos gave me a jolt of pleasure not previously experienced in my young life. I never felt it again so intensely until I met Brian. To reacquaint myself with that pleasure, after being away from him these many weeks, causes a shiver to spread across my neck and down my back. "Pantsss," I whisper in his ear and he agrees by reaching for my belt buckle.
B: I struggle with his belt as he pulls at my fly. He's turned on almost to frenzy. It must be our pressing together. He told me once how much he enjoyed the mere act of touching our bare chests to one another. Something about him and another kid cavorting in a pool. I think he told me in order to wheedle some more information about my early experiences… more than my classic tale of me and the coach. I told him that his little story sounded too much like kiddie-porn and changed the subject - to his pouty-lipped disappointment.
J: Our pants are down to our knees, then to our ankles and then are kicked off to the floor. Next we attack our shorts, but our attempt to quickly peel them off is slightly stalled by our majorly swollen dicks.
B: At last our cocks are free - rampant and ravenous for each other, poking and prying for attention. I think back to when he shyly dropped his jeans before getting into my bed that first time. I found myself a bit amazed at his size, as his nicely formed cock - emerging from a modest nest of silky blond pubes - pushed straight upward past his navel. I've seen bigger, but something about its size and substance, contrasted to his small physique, fascinated me then as it still does now.
J: We wrestle a bit; engaging in a race to see whose mouth gets to whose dick first. I lose as he pushes me on my back and plunges his face toward my tummy, where my dick is pressed flat and stiff. His mouth is superhot and I feel humid dampness envelop me, starting at the head and proceeding down my shaft.
B: His whole body quivers and I feel his ball sack tighten at the touch of my tongue. "Shit Brian, no. I don't want to come yet," he mutters as his presses his hands to my shoulders. I'm surprised at his unusual lack of control, but then it IS our first time since…
J: He stops, but instead of just removing his mouth, he tightens his lips and slowly travels back up my dick, causing me to shake and catch my breath. He is looking down at me, his hands on either side of my shoulders and his upper body suspended above me as if stopped in mid-push up. "Too much for you?" he smirks. Then he looks at my chest. "I THOUGHT something was missing. The nipple ring!"
B: "Obssservant as usual" he hisses seductively at me. "They took it off in the hospital and I never put it back." I roll over on my side and move my free hand toward his tit, intending to probe and pinch. "You wouldn't even know it had been there," I muse. And when my fingers make contact, he jumps as if hit by a live high voltage wire.
J: "Aaaahhhh!" I shout. "I'm supersensitive there now!" "Bullshit," he says. "That's not possible. You just associate that tit with pleasure. It's all in your head."
B: "I'll show you what's in my head," he laughs, pressing his face to mine. "My head tells me - I…want…to… get… FUCKED.
J: "What? No foreplay?" He asks dryly. "Well who am I to argue with that request." He moves onto, across and over me, reaching the edge of the bed and grabbing for the bowl containing condoms and lubricant. I take advantage of being free, to hop up and out of the bed, grabbing an edge of the covers as my feet hit the floor.
B: I turn my head to see him standing. "Now what?" I ask. "The duvet," he responds. "I'm taking it off, so it won't get…"
J: " Fuck the damn duvet!" he exclaims and turns back to getting the rubber and tube of lube. I can't resist and I lunge across the bed toward him.
B: I feel him hit the bed and I turn back to receive a face-full of Justin. "The duvet will just have to wait its turn," he says in his soft enticing whisper. "You have to fuck ME first."
J: He laughs and places the palm of one hand on my face and pushes me back against the pillow. I reach out and take the foil packet from his other hand, which also holds the container of lube. He flips open the top of the tube with his thumb and our preparations are swift and silent. Brian moves to center himself between my legs as I raise them up and over his shoulders. I've never gone so long without him inside me…will it hurt again? So what if it does? I push forward to meet his first thrust and I relax as I feel once more the delight of him swiftly entering my body.
B: Am I laying claim as I invade him or does he possess me? He is the most aggressive bottom I have ever had. He's short, slight of build and pretty- faced. But he is more of a man in bed than some of the tall, hard- faced, overly steroided muscle-clones I've fucked. This is no simpering schoolgirl with a dick. This is an assertive young guy who learned the art of sex quickly and thoroughly and enjoys taking pleasure from me and giving it back. He refuses to be subservient as I lunge in and out, rocking his body into mine and clamping his ankles tightly behind my neck.
J: That first night, that first time, as the pain surged through me, I clenched my toes and held my breath until I understood the rhythm of his thrusts and then the hurt turned to a surging heat that swept through my insides and warmed my whole body. Now I move my legs down, and wrap them tightly around his back, pulling him into me, I also encircle him with my arms, digging my fingers into the fine ridge of muscles that ripple back and forth on his sides. Sweat drips from him, landing in a pool of my perspiration that has already formed in the middle of my chest. He is deep inside me, then almost out, inside, out, inside, out. I meet his moves, as he continues to plunge. His head is thrown back, his mouth open, and I can hear the erotic exertion of his breathing. Then he looks down…
B: I've been staring blindly at the wall above my florescent lights, controlling my tempo, relishing each intense stroke. He buries his heels into my back, massages his hands up and down my sides, jambs his cock at my stomach, using every part of his body he can to achieve tactile satisfaction. I look down at him and move my face closer to his as he pulls toward me.
J: Pressing my legs and arms into him, I pull my shoulders up from the bed and bite at the air in front of his advancing lips, once, twice…contact.
B: He makes playful little puppy-dog nips at me as I close in on him. Our mouths encounter, fasten and seal and I use my face to push his head back on the pillow. Our tongues take over, exploring each other in a way that would make the French blush. My thrusts are paused for now as I hold myself deep inside of him. We are connected by my cock and every part of his body that touches mine. It is a passionate, emotional and even intellectual mingling of our beings that has addicted me to him in a way that always thrills me and scares me to death.
J: Merged together as we are, we keep on delving into and over each other with our hands, fingers and tongues…as if there could even be additional mysteries to our bodies that we have not yet unlocked. Some space creature not familiar with human sex might look on in wonder at the sweaty twists, turns and jumble of limbs that occur in the midst of manpassion. I was like an alien myself the first time…the first few times. I had so adored the male form from my youngest days, both as an artist and a blossoming gay kid. So fascinated with the possibilities, so happy that I was a guy too, possessing the same parts and feelings that I was so attracted to in others. I thought I knew what a man's body was capable of. But I was wrong. I didn't know until Brian taught me, and …and, well…until I realized I could add a few touches of my own.
B: We continue to thrash our tongues about, releasing them now from the captivity of our mouths and allowing them to skirt about…touching an eyebrow here, and ear lobe there. I know he wants me to stay tightly clenched to him, but I realize we both will soon need to release our energies.
J: As always, I want us to go on forever, but I know that even we have our limits. We have probably continued our activity for a long time, but it seems like just short minutes have passed before that familiar tugging at my balls returns and I know that this time I can't ignore it. "Brian, I…"
B: He doesn't even have to say another word. I raise myself up, pull my cock back, push his knees toward his shoulders and pound myself into him, again, again, again and his cock quivers
J: The irresistible tingle spreads from my balls to the root of my dick. I grab myself and hold tightly as the surge of pleasure speeds up the shaft and erupts over my stomach, chest and neck. At that moment, I buck my ass into Brian as he clenches his eyelids shut and plunges down one more time.
B: My orgasm is swift, intense and highly satisfying, made even more pleasurable as I open my eyes and see his glistening white juice spread in a jiggly line up his belly, across his heaving chest and ending just below his lips. I stop a minute, look at his sated eyes and I collapse on him. We are hot and sticky and together. As I lay on top of him, I feel his hand as it moves slowly up my back to my head and begins to gently caress my hair…
J: We have relaxed, our energies as spent as the guy stuff that we spewed, what… fifteen minutes, a half-hour before? I am majorly happy. He is still on top of me and I have encircled my ankles around his. We have been silent, his head on the pillow, turned slightly away from mine, but now he moves and looks at me. I drill his eyes with mine, stare hard and long, trapping him in my gaze. Then I raise up on my elbows and in one quick movement roll him over so that I am on top looking down at him.
B: What's this all about? He's never done this before. The look in his eyes is one of control, strength. He holds the focus of his eyes directly into mine…looking almost too deeply for my comfort. Then his eyelids flick, he smiles slightly and he gets that gentle Justinesque look I am so used to. He nestles now, his head below my chin, then he lifts himself, rests his chin in the palm of one hand and stares at me again, this time like he wants to talk.
J: I want to say something to him, but I'm sooo afraid of his reaction. No…no I'm going to say it. I look into him again.
B: His eyes speak before he does. Then he very softly says "happy anniversary" and puts his head back down on my shoulder as if he knows I won't respond and he doesn't want to be disappointed.
J: He doesn't have to say anything. I don't expect him to. His mouth touches the top of my head and he speaks into my hair: "Yeah." Hmmm, I think, more than I expected. But then he surprises me again.
B: What else should I say? Does he expect more? "Yeah," I repeat. "So you probably want a celebration." And he says…
J: And I say, "THIS wasn't a celebration? SWEET!" He pulls the duvet from the side of the bed; flips it in the air where it seems to hover for just second then floats down to cover us.
B: As the coverlet touches us I grab it and roll, folding us tightly in its clutches. He yelps with boyish laughter and his joy almost makes me shout with happiness, but of course I don't.
J: He is on top me now, pressed close by the confines of the rich blue fabric. I am laughing, giggling, yelling with delight. I thrust my head back arching my throat toward his approaching lips. A smile has taken over my whole face, stretching muscles I haven't used in months.
B: My lips brush his Adam's apple and I release my breath through puckered lips, blowing air up his neck and over his chin. His laughter continues unabated as I make my way up to his face and am almost blinded by the dazzle of his smile…a sight I have missed these many weeks.
J: I inhale, exhale once, twice, three times, trying to calm my giggles. By now our lips have found each other and gladly mate. Bound together by the duvet and our encircled arms, we are scrunched so tight we seem to be one person.
B: Covered up and pressed to each other as we are, our bodies are almost on fire. It is the most amazingly erotic heat I have ever felt. Then, not surprisingly…
J: My dick makes its presence known. What kept you, I think. I smile again, flicking my eyebrows as I look at him. Mmmmm! He's up too. I recall my mantra that sooo embarrassed my mom…"I like dick. I want to get fucked by dick. I want to suck dick. I like to suck dick. And I'm good at it, too." He must read something in my eyes because he says, "What are you thinking about?"
B: "Our dicksss and the fun they're having," he replies with that soft, shy, cute, steamy "ess" sound he uses to such advantage
J: "Let's join them," he says, moving his hands to each side of my head and pulling my face into his. Our open mouths touch and for now nothing else matters. ...
B: …not the past…
J:...not the future…
B: …only this very moment…
J: …as we lay together…
B/J:…celebrating!
